


Once We Were

by Namigati



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namigati/pseuds/Namigati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Ferelden Circle Tower, nineteen year old Cullen has quite the 'little' crush on one of his charges, sweet little Amell. Luckily for him, she is actually interested in giving him the time of day, though he hopes she can't see right through him, awkward and obvious as he may be.<br/>" So many times they’ve done this, she must be used to him, but it never gets any easier for him. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once We Were

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place well before the Broken Circle questline and before the Blight even starts, so the Amell twins are still both in the Circle. Vindice is still an apprentice, while Castiza has passed her Harrowing already.  
> Tried to keep it short, so it's barely breaking 2k words.  
> This is by far the worst thing I've ever written (not quality-wise, I promise the quality isn't bad imo), taking into account EVERY instance I've written filthy smut or anything else. I had to stop so many times from the second-hand embarrassment I was getting because Cullen is a giant dork, and I'm not sure if I'm more ashamed that I enjoyed it through the embarrassment, or that it was so easy to write. Please.

He notices her fragrance in the spring, which he finds odd; most of the mages (especially the women) use the same soaps and perfumes—it’s economical, they make the items themselves. It shouldn’t stand out to him, but it does. The smell of grass and elfroot and orchids… She’s been outside. She must have been gathering herbs because the mages are no longer allowed outside for recreation, not since the swimming incident. Perhaps she was with Wynne or another Senior Enchanter.

When he reaches out for her—slowly, always slowly. She’s such a timid thing—she turns to him and he loses his nerve. “I—ah, h-hello.”

“Hello, Cullen.” She smiles at him. Always.

“You, um… how, uh, is y-your day? I mean h-how are you?”

“I’m alright, how are you?”

“Y-yes.”

She doesn’t question him. So many times they’ve done this, she must be used to him, but it never gets any easier for him. Yet she keeps talking to him, every time warming his heart and his cheeks. He wants to smile, to run his hand through his hair, but the last time he tried that, his gauntlet got stuck and it was mortifying.

“That’s good.”

“Ah, yes, how are you? Uh…”

“You…um… I’m alright.” She smiles even brighter.

Maker, she is a patient woman. What kind of fool asks the same question twice?

“Ahaha, of course. I’m sorry, Casti—Ah! Amell, sorry… Amell… Uhh…haha…ha…”

She shakes her head with a polite smile. “It’s alright, you can use my name, I don’t mind. Have you seen Jowan around? I promised I’d help him and Vindice with something.”

“A-ah, no I, uh, I haven’t, sorry. H-have you checked, uh… Library?”

She smiles again, nodding. “Just came from there. You’re um…standing right outside of it.”

Fire. Right now, he is on literal fire; he can feel it, he knows it. That’s _thrice_ he’s mucked up. Wow. He wants to crawl under a rock and just die, but life isn’t so simple, so he must forge on. It can’t be too hard to recover from such slip-ups, or at least the last one.

“R-right, of course. Just m-making sure, yeah? Ahahaha…”

It looks as if she is trying to hold back a giggle, the way she smiles at him. Captivating, she is.

“Of course. Sorry, but I really should find them. I’ll see you later?”

_Maker, I hope so._ “O-of course. I’m here. If you want to talk, I-I’ll listen. And talk. O-or just listen, if you, uh… don’t want me to talk.”

“I enjoy talking to you,” he swears he hears her say before just gives an apologetic wave of her small, delicate hand and skitters away.

It was probably his imagination.

* * *

 

He hasn’t seen her for three days. Okay, that’s not quite true. He was on guard in the dining room all day the first day, and she came in with her brother and friend for breakfast, alone for lunch, and with a couple of girls for dinner. Quieter than a mouse, she is, he noticed. Always listening to her dining companions, offering advice or a motherly scolding when they would play with their food or get too rowdy. When she was alone, she had her books and he did not wish to disturb her or her studies, so he watched. Not very closely, he was on duty, but close enough to see she was reading books on healing and elemental magic. And taking notes. On several different papers. And eating healthy foods—that’s always promising—but never much, at least not as much as the others.

The second day he was outside of the library again. As she came around the corner, he could hear her melodious laughter, more resplendent than any church bells or morning song birds. But her brother was with her and she was shuffled past him into the room without so much as a hello or a smile. He missed her smile already.

He was relieved of his post before she came back out.

The third day has been agony, he actually hasn’t seen her all day. He wishes he had the freedom to just walk around, but he isn’t on patrol. His job is just to stand here and make sure no one does anything wrong. But no one is even around. No one’s wandering in and out, most people are in the library or their rooms or eating. He can hear the Tranquil in the stockroom reading out inventory to one another, but it’s so monotonous and makes him sleepy. Groaning in frustration, he stretches his stiff limbs and leans from side to side, letting his feet move so he feels less antsy.

“Hello, Cullen.” Her voice startles him, he hadn’t heard her approach, and he turns toward her so quickly, he nearly knocks her over.

“Ah! H-hi! H-hello… Good evening.” He manages a weak smile as she giggles at him.

“Sorry, I thought you saw me.”

“No, it’s, you’re great—fine. It’s fine.” He nods several times.

“I wanted to show you something. It’s um…something I learned—magic…is that alright?”

She ducks her head, her shoulders raising, and grips her robes with both hands, as if to say she wouldn’t dream of doing anything unless he said alright.

“That, uh, sounds awfully dangerous.”

With a shake of her head, she bites her lip. “It’s healing magic, nothing dangerous. First Enchanter says I’ve nearly mastered it, I just…thought you’d like to see.”

He breathes out noisily and coughs to cover it up. _She is so cute…_ “Why, um… Why me?”

He nearly has a heart attack when she smiles again. “I just noticed that Templars seem to get minor injuries and ailments while on duty. Sore muscles, tired hands and feet and eyes… Is there anything that hurts? I thought maybe I’d be able to help. I-if you trust me, of course…”

There is a pause… And another. And another. She looks down, left, and right, and he realizes it’s because he hasn’t answered—he’s just been staring at her.

“Y-yes. My wrist. I—uh, I sprained it while I was sparring with Olivier the other day…” He moves his arm up and down to emphasize his point.

“Can you take the gauntlet off, please? It should only take a second, I promise.”

It is no match; he practically flings it off of his arm and it clatters to the floor before he can even think to catch it. He laughs weakly when she bends to pick it up and place it in his other hand. Without blinking—and possibly without breathing—he watches her rub her hands together lightly, and bring them apart a few inches. They glow with faint white light and she brings them over and under his own hand, and he can feel the tickle of her skin almost, _almost_ touching him. Her face shows her focus, eyes glued to their hands, expression serious and confident. Maker, she is the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, it’s just not fair.

His hand and wrist and forearm feel warm, a comforting feeling like home, but just as he gets used to it, she takes her hands away, magic dissipating, feeling gone.

“How does it feel now?” She asks as tucks a piece of her bangs behind her ear.

“Y-yes,” is all he can manage to sputter, but she seems to understand if her relieved and triumphant grin is anything to go by.

“Well, I should go. Thank you, Cullen. Enjoy your dinner,” she says as she turns and glides away from him.

“Ah, yes…th-thank you…Castiza…”

He’s still lost in dreamy wonder as Roland saunters up to him and gives him a friendly jab on the breastplate.  “Hey, Rutherford, my turn. Go get yourself some food. Huh? You break your glove, mate?”

“No, I’m… I was just fixing it, thanks. I’ll be seeing you.”

He barely registered Roland’s laugh and _yeah, sure_ as he left, but instead was growing more and more worried that Castiza could read minds. That would be the absolute worst thing, for many reasons. With a weird, inarticulate noise he tells himself that it’s impossible. Only Blood Mages can read minds and there was _no_ way that she would ever even think about dabbling in blood magic. _She just showed you healing magic—literally the softest, gentlest thing she could ever do next to her cuddling a tiny puppy and you’re worried she’s a blood mage. Andraste’s flaming sword, what is wrong with you, Rutherford?_

* * *

 

Late night patrol could be one of the most uneventful things, but it was usually the worst thing ever for Cullen. Every time it was his turn, without fail, he would find a couple of young mages—and sometimes older ones, but he prefers to block all that out, lest he projectile vomit lyrium everywhere—messing about, rolling about like wild animals. It was _even_ _worse_ when he catches Castiza’s brother with someone, especially with a Templar, like the last time. Vindice _laughed_ at him while he shielded his eyes and demanded they stop, and told _Cullen’s own brother-in-arms_ to not worry. That there was no way Cullen would ever tell, because he’s afraid of Castiza. Preposterous. He is a Templar and needn’t fear any mage. Especially not one so gentle and kind and sweet.

Cullen was so embarrassed, he fled, and he never did report it that night. He told himself he was too frazzled and tired and wasn’t sure what he saw (and there’s nothing _wrong_ with wanting to have a little bit of fun, right?) to properly write an incident report.

He gripes and grumbles every time he hears a noise, worried it’s someone messing around noisily so he can’t just turn a blind eye to it, _terrified_ that it’s Vindice doing it to torment him. As he turns the corner, he hears hushed, albeit familiar, voices: Roger and Gerard and… Castiza? She must be returning to her room from the library, there would be no other reasons for her to be out and about.

“—Rutherford’s little mage girl—”

“—can see why he’s so taken wi—”

“—just going back to—”

“—ldn’t it be fun to just—”

“—ease don’t t—”

When he steps out, she spots him immediately, and the other two look in the direction she seems so surprised about. He doesn’t hesitate to go to her, unsure of what’s happening, but not liking the distress in her voice.

“Cullen!” She looks between all three and squeezes past Roger and Gerard and hurries to stand in front of him. She stands closer than she ever has, staring directly at the etching on his breastplate, head turned downward by the slightest bit.

“Amell. Is everything alright?” He places a hand on her shoulder. She tenses, but doesn’t shake him off.

“We were just making sure she got back to her room safely. You never know what other mages might be up to at these hours.”

“Ha, you’re telling me. You wouldn’t believe the things I walk in on during my patrols.” The three laugh amicably, the others agreeing with him. “Oh, Roger. I didn’t think you were on patrol tonight.”

“Ah, well I just got off.” Roger is a wiry man, stringy as his hair. Cullen has seen him without the armor; he wasn’t sure how the man managed to walk around in it, but perhaps there was a strength underneath the skin and bone.

“I’ll bet,” Cullen hears Castiza mutter, leaning closer to him.

“And I’m afraid I was distracting poor Gerard, but we stumbled upon the lass and well, the rest is history.”

“Of course. Well no worries, I was headed in that direction anyway, so I’ll take over if you don’t mind. Goodnight, men.”

“Nighty night.”

“Sweet dreams, Amell.”

He can feel her shudder underneath his hand, and when the others leave, she wriggles out of his grasp.

“I can get there on my own,” she insists. She puts her palm over his armor, and for a second he is afraid she’s going to push him, never mind that he is three times bigger than her and probably weighs that much more. But she only nods and spins around, scampering away from him. He doesn’t move, can’t move, bewitched by something more powerful than magic. He realizes once she is gone that her hair wasn’t up in an elaborate style like she normally has it. It is longer than he ever thought, auburn running deeper into the locks while they’re free. She is one tantalizing woman.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm 100% serious. I'm more flustered about this than I would be about the most hard-core smut (that a person who doesn't normally read smut would come across). Pl ease


End file.
